Mercy
by daydream11
Summary: Azula. Every thorn has its rose. Phoenix: Daughter of Ozai, of Ursa, of a war inherited from Darkness, of Fire. A born prodigy, master of lightning. Intelligent, loyal, cunning. Some things never die. Some things can't.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is my final _Avatar: the Last Airbender_ fanfic (part one of ten). I thank everyone who, for the past three years, have read my stories, helped me write them, review them, and critique them. Lyrics belong to Linkin Park. I do not own _Avatar: the Last Airbender_.

* * *

_Mercy_

daydream11

March 22, 2009

-

**mercy**

noun

_1. compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy_

-

**001. Twilight**

"It's my favorite time of day," she told me. I glanced up at her, surprised. Wasn't this girl supposed to be a Firebender? Didn't they love the day? You know, "_I rise with the sun_" and all of that jazz? She turned around, facing me completely now, and smirked.

"Oh, just ask it, if you really want to know," she said. I glared at her. She didn't flinch, and instead raised her brows. For one who has been so disgraced, she was still so arrogant even when she didn't try to be.

"I don't," I huffed. She laughed this time, no smirks! A real laugh – light and airy and not at all like the bitchy one I had heard so much.

"Yes, that's why you're here with me, and not back at the inn, where your friends and wife are expecting you." She grinned. "I wonder how she'd feel to know that you're here with me, of all people? And how she'd react when I tell her that I didn't call you, that you came on your own." I blushed under her gaze. "Not happy, she'd be, I know."

She turned back to the window, watching as the sun sank further behind the trees. Stars were beginning to emerge. She didn't move as I settled beside her.

She _did_ smirk, though.

**002. Burn**

She had burned her way off of that disgusting sewer, filthy and soaking and stinking. Nobody had come to her aid; everybody had ignored her screams and cries. She was left with scars around her wrists, permanent scars that circled around her wrists. So like her brothers', though the tale was different. Her brother's own told his tale of freedom and truth. Hers were a testimony of slavery and lies.

**003. Silence**

They wouldn't allow her to speak.

They had drugged her as much as they could without poisoning her, and it kept the girl in an induced coma. It was terrible, this silence. Somehow, Song knew that it was worse than the girl's yells. She had pleaded with anyone she possible could plead to – the girl's therapist, the head doctor, the Firelord himself – but her requests fell on deaf ears. "There is no need for pity," the Firelord told her in a personal visit, presumably to confirm his sister's wellbeing, "she brought this upon herself."

Song had heard the whispers, saw for herself the new history textbooks being written. She knew damn well the horrors that followed the princess' wake; she knew that the Firelord had hid in her home running from her. Yet, as Song attended to the princess' scars – she had burned herself off the sewer the Waterbender had chained her to – she couldn't help but speak up herself.

"Maybe, maybe not," she whispered, handing the princess' wrists gently. She wrapped the clean linen around the fresh wounds, something she did at least six times a day. Song sponged the princess' face and brushed her hair, tucking the blanket around her body. "Azula does, however, need mercy."

**004. Secrets**

"_Stay away from the princess,_" Tyro wrote, "_that woman brings destruction._" These were the words contained in the post-script of his father's letter, in the first one he received since he was in the Fire Nation representing his community (there was work to be done, after all, for former Fire Nation colonies). Haru wrote back to his father diligently, and obediently steered clear of the princess, who sources told him was now given the permission to roam the castle freely.

He had found her in the palace library late one afternoon, in a corner by an open window, studying. He sat at one small table nearby with parchment and a pencil, and ignored her. There was just enough time to write a letter to his father, and perhaps to rest afterward. No sooner had he began did a shadow come over him. He glanced up and met the princess' gaze.

"May I join you?" she asked. "I'm craving for some company. It's been days since I've been around anyone but my maids or my nurse." Without waiting for an answer, she sat down across from him and continued to read. She seemed to be paying him no mind.

Haru gaped and, realizing what he was doing, hurriedly returned to his letter. His heart beating furiously, he forced his hand to remain still as he wrote his letter. He'd keep this – the princess' close proximity – from his father. No need to frighten the old man.

**005. Blankets**

Prince Zuko woke up in the middle of the night shivering. The comforter he and Azula had been sleeping under was bunched around her small body. He rolled his eyes and yanked part of the blanket from under his sister, only for her to grumble in her sleep and pull it back. Zuko groaned and settled for cuddling her; it was as warm as he could get without attempting Firebending (and probably starting a fire along with it). He jealously eyed the blankets swaddling Azula.

"_Cover hog._"

-

_In this farewell  
There's no blood  
There's no alibi  
'Cause I've drawn regret  
From the truth  
Of a thousand lies  
So let mercy come  
And wash away  
What I've done_

* * *

_1/10_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** This is my final Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic (part one of ten). I thank everyone who, for the past three years, have read my stories, helped me write them, review them, and critique them. Lyrics belong to Linkin Park. I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender.

_Mercy_

daydream11

May 30, 2009

-

**mercy**

noun

_1. compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy_

-

**010. Challenge**

"I don't think your problem is not that you don't love, but that you don't know _how_ to." She glanced up, tired and wary, but his blue eyes were earnest. "I bet if you had grown up in another place in another family, you'd be a lot better off." She blew air out from between her teeth, listening as it whistled through the air.

"And what makes you so sure of this?"

He shrugged. "Because I know enough to realize that hate is taught and nurtured. A person doesn't hate on her own, not completely. Hate has to start somewhere, and it has to feed upon something, and I doubt it started and ended with you alone."

"Oh?"

"Yep."

"Do you plan on doing anything about it?"

She d searched his face, looking for any reason – _any reason at all_ – to help her understand why in Agni's name this man was even bothering her.

"I plan to figure it out."

She closed her eyes and leaned back onto the wall, deflating into it. "What if I don't let you figure out? What if you can't?"

When she opened her eyes she found him nearby, even more in the room than he was before. His gaze didn't leave hers.

"I enjoy challenges."

**040. Love**

The dark ends held a dull sheen; they shone a bloody ruby red as they caught in the thin stream of light. She opened her eyes and glanced at the older brother she had always hated, always envied.

She flinched as he bend down, smooth hands cradling her filthy face, and choked back a growl as his lips pressed against her cheek.

"I still love you, Azula," he said, words low and steady.

Her hair – long now, would be longer still if it were clean and combed – fell over her face as he released her, leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

**008. Liar**

_Liar?_

It was their own fault. They should have remembered that the truth behind her words was hidden deep beneath the surface; maybe they should have remembered not to take her words at face value. She could only remember lying four times, once to Ty Lee as she retrieved her from the circus and once to her father when she returned home from Ba Sing Se. Everyone deserved to lie at least four times, surely. If luring Zuko onto a ship could be taken as lying, then Zuko should be rightfully labeled as dense for believing that his father wanted him home for love – and not to lock him away so that the rest of the royal family wouldn't be shamed by his antics. (_See?_ Ozai _did _care for his kin.) And if dressing up as Earth Kingdom warriors was lying, then what was the Avatar doing acting as a Fire Nation schoolboy? It was the same thing; there really wasn't anything different between the two. She figured that didn't count, that both of those instances canceled each other out. Two lies for a truth.

She told the psychiatrist as much, and the pitying look he gave her was all of the answer she needed.

"Azula, from the information I have received from your family and acquaintances, most notably Firelord Zuko, Princess Ursa, and General Iroh, you were an untrustworthy and devious child."

She turned to him and stared. He continued on:

"And quite frankly, I have come to the conclusion that you have deceived yourself into believing yourself an honest person."

He cleared his throat. "It is unfortunate, princess, that you continue on with the notion that your actions are justified and reasonably explained."

The doctor stopped then, glancing over his notes. "Do you – do you have anything you would like to add, Princess Azula?"

She nodded. "I am not a liar."

"Princess Azula, I am obliged to report your progress to Firelord Zuko."

"I'm not a liar."

_One day he'll believe her._

"I am positive that with many more sessions, we'll reach a breakthrough."

_One of these days they'll realize how much of the truth she told. _

"I would like you to write an entry in your journal tonight, Princess Azula, about honesty."

_The third time she lied was to her own self. _

"Perhaps adding something about your brother and mother would be beneficial, don't you agree?"

_She had convinced herself that her relationship with her mother didn't need to be positive, that she could happily live without the maternal blessings a mother bestowed upon her daughter._

"Next time we meet, I'd like to talk to you about your family. There is much to be said, and I believe that we have not figured everything out yet. Princess Ursa played a large role in your life, yes?"

_Azula knew that she should have taken her own advice, repeated to herself what she had just told her doctor. She should have remembered to delve deeper, tell herself the real reason why she and her mother didn't get along, why they found it hard to love each other._

"There are things even you don't know about yourself, Princess Azula. I'm here to help you discover them." He stood up and bowed to her. She found herself alone in the chilly room with only the aroma of incense to keep her company. Her mother entered in only moments after the doctor left. Ursa sat beside her, enveloping Azula's hand into her own.

"We're going to get to know each other. We may not have had a positive relationship during your childhood, but I'm here now and I want to fix this."

Azula nodded. "I do, too."

_Liar._

**043. Gentle**

She had been four. He had just turned six. It was her first trip away from the royal city, her first trip to Ember Island. There she had spent long days in the sun, running around barefoot in loose tunics. The two of them had raced from their home to the beach, crashing through the forest until they burst onto the shore, kicking up sand and startling the grown-ups. She had tripped over a fallen net and landed into the sand, getting the miniscule pieces into her eyes and ears and mouth. Wailing, her hands brushed over her face in a futile attempt to rid herself of the irritation. Hearing her, he had rushed to her side and stilled her hands, ordering her to open her eyes. With a clean hand he carefully picked each particle out and brushed her tongue and bent her head over to each side so that the sand would fall out of her ears.

"Is she okay?" A frantic Ursa rushed toward them, kneeling by Azula and inspecting her.

"I'm fine," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "Zuzu took care of me."

As Ursa turned away to recover the towels and picnic basket she had thrown aside in order to reach her daughter, Azula reached out to Zuko and hugged him.

He kissed her cheek.

"Ew," she whined, wiping her cheek. "Why do you _always_ give me wet kisses?"

**020. Peace.**

She had wandered into the garden, wishing for a place to be in peace. The day had been long and exhausting, and she was craving for solitude. Zuko insisted on including her in meetings, against her own desire and wishes, and he treated her like the queen she no longer expected to be. If it surprised their nation and the world the people did not express it, and that is what bothered her the most. Did they not remember her crimes?

"Is there anything you ever regret?"

She knew that voice. It was the Avatar's. He stood beside her, sadness and joy radiating off of him in equal measures. She didn't bother to turn toward him. If one were to walk into the garden then behind them, he would admire the sunset, the emerging stars, and two figures cast in silhouette.

"Yes."

The Avatar gazed at her expectantly. Finding that she would not willingly volunteer an answer, he sighed. "It can't be easy being you."

Her eyes strayed toward the pale moon. "Don't give me your pity."

"I wasn't."

"Good." She pulled her hair from off of her neck. "I don't want it."

"The world somehow loves you," he said. She nodded.

"I know."

"I have no idea why."

She glanced at him. The Avatar blushed deeply and quickly turned his gaze back onto the sky, admiring the darkening sky. Her stare, at least, refused to falter. She studied him with intensity.

"Neither do I," she replied.

He took her hand and kissed her cheek and cursed himself for doing so.

-

_I'll face myself_

_To cross out_

_What I've become_

_Erase myself_

_And let go of_

_What I've done_

* * *

_2/10_

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own neither Avatar: the Last Airbender nor the rights to Linkin Park's "What I've Done"._

* * *

_

_Mercy_

daydream11

July 5, 2009

-

**mercy**

noun

_1. compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy_

**-**

**031. Watch**

One of the Dai Li soldiers, in the corner of his eye, shivered at the sight of the smile gracing the princess' face. It was cold, cruel, calculating – did a person really take pleasure in such absolute destruction, such evil? _Could_ a person? The Avatar's limp body fell from the ceiling, and the water child went to catch him. They escaped, and the fire princess coolly arranged for an easy end to the fight. His fellow men, those that weren't attending to the fallen General Iroh, organized themselves into formation and followed her out of that god-forsaken cave. He was one of them. The way was eerie and quiet; the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel underneath their shoes. The princess stopped and they all looked up expectantly.

"You are dismissed," she said. He wondered how anyone could be so calm and relaxed after such a battle? How in the world was it possible for her?

Later on, when he saw the princess during his service in the Fire Nation, he grieved for her. She was on the throne, surrounded by flames of blue; her golden eyes glanced about in total distrust. Their eyes met and her gold ones narrowed. His heart went out to her. How could he dare to want to comfort a person of such wickedness?

The last time he witnessed her she was wandering through the streets of Ba Sing Se, minding her own business. He was manning a fruit stall and she ran her tanned hands over the fruits. Their eyes met and she stopped, stunned. Her mouth opened but nothing came out, and she closed it. The brush of her hand against his own sparked a flame within his belly, and without hesitation she disappeared into the noisy crowd.

He found that he respected her.

**027. Waves**

Zuko had allowed her to choose her own exile, and for some reason she chose to remain by the sea, at their family's old summer home on Ember Island. She spent her first days repairing the house, making it into a home,_ her _home. Then she built a training arena, one that would satisfy her need to perfect and practice and perform. At the end of the summer, when the days were gradually becoming shorter and night was coming sooner, she spent her evenings along the house's balcony, listening to the sounds of Ember Island. There were families leaving and families arriving, wild parties to end the summer on a glorious note, the laughter of lovers stealing moments on the shore below. What captivated her most was the ocean. She had been afraid of water when she was younger, and though she was long over that fear, she still avoided water when she could help it. All summer, though, the ocean held a strong influence over her: she woke to it, bade goodnight to it, and wondered each and every day how it would feel to have it surround her.

She decided to find out.

The night was warm and muggy. She was full of energy, almost unheard of for the time of night. The moon was high overhead and the island was quiet. The ocean, however, beckoned for her company. She answered it, lighting her was down to it with a small fire in her hand. It was fresh and salty, tickling her noise and her face with its sprays. She kicked off her sandals and settled onto the sand, a safe distance away from it. She was content not to touch it. She loved to listen to it, to its calming rhythm and expected routine. She listened to it all day, allowing it to soothe her spirit and allow her soul to rest.

She needed to listen. It was her only connection to sanity.

**042. Flowers**

Ursa, Azula remembers, was the only one to remember the small details in Azula's life. When she thinks now upon that little fact, she smiles at the irony. How could a mother with such a tense relationship with her young daughter still lovingly bestow such gifts upon her? The answer to that question, Azula figures, is that her mother did love her. She decides that it was their truce, the one thing they could bond over, even if not directly.

Ursa set out orchids, tulips, daisies, and sweet peas in the spring, and sunflowers and panda lilies in the summer. In the fall there were amaryllises, ginestras, roses, and yarrows. Her bedroom in the winter months was always decorated with viburnums.

In the mornings when Ursa helped her to dress, her eyes would settle on the vase that held the blooms. During her afternoon naps she would fall asleep to their fragrance. They would be the first thing she saw when she woke up in the morning – a new bouquet of flowers arranged especially for her by her mother's own hands. She never did witness their arrival, nor did she ever see them wilt. If she and Ursa fought during the day, it had no bearing on whether or not the flowers would be there the next morning. Soon enough Azula figured out that, like the flowers' eternal presence, her mother _did_ love her, even if the harsh words spoken over dinner left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Azula remembers that the morning after Ursa's nocturnal flight was gray and dreary and chilly. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, not willing to find out if there would be a vase of roses waiting for her. She didn't expect any. Eventually she gathered up the courage to find out. There were, in fact, a vase of white roses waiting for her.

But not the day after.

**006. Linger**

Sokka's back pressed up against the courtyard wall; shingles pressed painfully in his spine. Azula smirked as she brought her lips down on his neck, his chest, his shoulders; smelling the sharp-sweet tang of his cologne. His breath hitched as she bit him, licked him, suck his skin. His red tunic was damp with sweat. She liked red on him. It brought out his cinnamon complexion. She ran a tongue along his chin. He tasted like cinnamon, too.

"Stay a while," she breathed. He shivered slightly and grabbed her back, pulling her toward his heaving chest. Azula gripped Sokka's arms with soft, warm hands, pressing her sharp fingernails into his skin."At least for dinner."

**013. February**

"Your feet are cold," Sokka said. Before Azula could protest or deny, he threw the blanket off of the two of them and brought her feet into his lap. He began to massage them between his two hands, eliciting a small smile from his wife of two evenings.

Azula lit the fire that had gone out sometime during the night. The small bedroom slowly began to warm, and Azula tugged at Sokka's grip. "Let me go."

Sokka grinned and kissed the pads of her feet. "No."

-

_Put to rest what you've thought of me._

* * *

_3/10_


	4. Chapter 4

_Mercy_

daydream11

October 31, 2009

-

**mercy**

noun

_1. compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy_

**-**

**007. Clouds**

Azula saw many things through the drugged fog that surrounded her. There was her brother, clad in royal robes that he wore with an ugly awkwardness, and a smug Mai who only accompanied him when he begged outside her door. Their features were distorted and their voices unnaturally loud, things that made Azula moan. There was her mother, patronizing and lovely, surrounded by a halo and wearing dragon wings. Her nurses were white machines, sterile and cold, and made her shiver. Uncle Iroh was a vision of splendor and fire, all neon colors and no soft words.

She decided to count the turtle ducks instead. They never bit.

**009. Remember**

"_She_'s here," Suki whispered. She glared balefully in the princess' direction, drawing closer to Sokka despite Azula's considerable distance and obvious sedation. The princess sat at a faraway table with people who could only be her doctors, close enough to the head table where her brother and elders could keep an eye on her and hidden enough to prevent any embarrassing scenes. Her eyes were the only alert things about her, sharp while the rest of her remained sluggish.

Sokka drew his wife closer and bent down to whisper in her ear. "She doesn't pose a threat to a mouse, let alone you. And besides, you can take her even in your state." He patted her belly, smiled cheekily, and left to track down the nearest sever. Suki rolled her eyes and joined her sister-in-law. Her back was turned from the princess, but a chill in her spine told Suki that she was being watched. Nobody had to tell her who was watching.

Suki _knew_.

Katara was telling her and another woman a funny story about Aang Suki had heard a thousand times before; she wasn't listening. She was beating down memories she thought she had long since forgotten. Her baby moved inside of her, and Suki was transported to a dark dungeon of yesteryear, where a girl taunted and tortured and softly kissed her lips without her permission. "_My favorite_," the girl would say, and laugh and tell her awful stories about a blue-eyed boy. Her eyes would sparkle, the only bright thing in a dark room.

"I need a breath of fresh air. Step outside with me?" she asked Katara, who glanced at Suki's swollen feet knowingly and led her outside by the arm. Suki clasped the girl's arm, using it for the strength she knew wouldn't quite reach her heart, and breathed a sigh of relief when the party was behind her, safely hiding a certain princess behind ornamented doors.

Suki hated golden eyes of any and all kind.

**011. Hand**

Song readily volunteered to accompany Azula when she was finally allowed to take daily walks on the palace grounds. Song loved the late afternoons, when the two would walk. Azula was a quiet presence, inclined to sit down without notice in a garden or near a small pool to meditate, and Song enjoyed her company. She would sit a ways away, allowing Azula the privacy she otherwise didn't receive, and watch as the sun and shadows dance across her body. Azula was a beautiful girl, startlingly young when stripped of the makeup and power that she had worn during the war. Song loved this new vulnerability. Painful it might have been, her vulnerability, but Azula wore pain well. It suited her, somehow, in ways that it had never suited her brother the prince.

Sometimes Azula would allow Song to sit beside her; occasionally she even leaned against Song, a daughter who needed a mother's touch and love, something Song had naturally and was more than willing to give Azula. Every so often, never predictably, Azula would slip her hand into Song's and hold it tightly. Once Song wiped away a tear Azula had let fall, and Azula had accepted a gentle kiss in return.

In those moments, Song's heart would break.

**012. Distance**

"That was by far the cruelest thing you have ever done, Fire Lord Zuko."

Shocked, Zuko looked incredulously at his uncle. They stood side by side at the capital's gates, watching as Song's coach faded from sight little by little.

"She and Azula were becoming too close; their intimacy was an unbecoming example of a nurse-and-patient relationship. Azula needs focus; Song did not provide that."

Iroh's lip curled in a rare display of disgust. "Azula needs love; you never provided it. None of us do, but Song did. And, as usual when it comes to your family, you were too dense to realize it." He glared at his nephew. "It is about time you put aside your childhood resentment and think about your sister for a change, and not the little girl who terrorized you." His gaze softened and his face colored in shame. "It's about time we all did."

A chastised Zuko gazed at the speck that was Song. "Should I call her back?"

Iroh shook his head. "There is no need. Love knows no bounds; distance means nothing to it. Song and Azula will find their way back together. So love is, so it will always be."

That night, the princess was declared missing.

_So love is, so it will always be._

-

_Put to rest what you've thought of me_

_While I clean this slate _

_With the hands of uncertainty_

4/10


	5. Phoenix

_Mercy_

daydream11

February 6, 2010

-

**mercy**

noun

_1. compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy_

-

050.

**Phoenix**

Daughter of Ozai, of Ursa, of a war inherited from Darkness, of Fire.

A born prodigy, master of lightning.

Intelligent, loyal, cunning.

Some things never die.

Some things _can't_.

* * *

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed is that she couldn't move. She was comfortable enough, but there were something keeping her down that she could not explain. She lifted up her head, straining against what she figured out were heavy straps around her and swept her eyes around the room. She was in some part of the palace, she knew, though the knowledge of her exact whereabouts remained a mystery.

"You passed out, eventually."

She whipped her head around and found her older brother sitting quietly besides the bed. Her eyes narrowed slightly, wondering what he was talking about. He noticed this and said, "Katara had you chained, and you threw a fit. We left you there and when we came back, you were unconscious."

She settled wordlessly back into the plump pillows, fixing her golden eyes on the ceiling. The mention of the water witch quickened her pulse, and she fought to maintain control. _Don'tloseit, don'tloseit, don'tloseit, don'tloseit, don'tloseit… _She took a deep breath, struggling to keep from lashing out both physically and verbally.

"Uncle told me not to throw you in jail, not to take away your bending powers."

"_How sweet_," she muttered, words full of annoyance. She didn't take her eyes off of the ceiling. Zuko didn't become angry, but shook his head sadly.

"Aang warned me to keep you close, to make sure that you wouldn't burn down the entire city with your anger."

"That was very kind of him," she said. "Because I love being treated as a demented animal."

"You were acting like one that day," he replied, plunging the room into silence.

_As if you would understand even half of it_, she thought to herself, fingers itching with unreleased electricity. At least he wasn't lying about her bending.

"And everyone had recommended that I find someone for you to talk to, someone who'll help you heal and properly comprehend the Fire Nation's role in the war."

She snorted. "I don't need any of that, Zuzu. I need to be left alone, and for you to release me from this undignified prison."

"That's not an option you have." His words held the authoritative tone of someone with control. _In_ control. "I can't have you being a negative influence on the Fire Nation, Azula. I don't care if you take away something positive from those who wish to help you or not; that will be on your conscience alone. My part as your brother is to make sure you get the help you desperately need."

He left her then, leaving her alone in that empty room with nothing but his words, injured pride, and her loss of freedom.

The next few weeks passed slowly, her only company that of doctors and silent servants. She spent her dinners alone; early on she noted that her company in the main dining hall brought tension that her pride refused to stand. Constant rumors, she knew, floated around her, her brother refused to connect with her when he found out that she refused to connect with her doctors (_I don't have to deal with your insolence_, he said to her one night. _And as long as you hold on to it, you can spend your days in silence._), and the rigid schedule he kept her on nearly pushed her over the edge of peace. People avoided her at all costs.

She chose to leave in the end.

Zuko was Fire Lord; that fact alone was too painful to bear. The other fact, the one concerning Mai, was another. She was constantly by his side, adorned in the royal robes despite the fact that their marriage hadn't even taken place yet. Her claim to the throne, one that was rightfully hers by the traditions legally set in place for Agni Kai settlements, was an offense. Despite what Zuko told her, she knew that her presence did not grace his own. The various shrinks and psychoanalysts and therapists they ordered her to interact with only gave her that disdainful feeling of complete and total humiliation, if her brother's new found position weren't enough.

It was too much to handle. She could admit that, as long as it was only to herself.

Quietly, in the dead of night, the humid air pressing her limp hair against her sweaty neck, she went away. An emu-horse from the palace stables, the remainder of her allowance, and a few bags were all she brought with her, off to a small village in the middle of the Fire Nation jungle. She had heard of the place from the kitchen workers, a small remote place where many of them had lived beforehand.

She found a servant in the marketplace only a few hours after her discreet arrival, one who, after telling her of a small empty home many miles away where she could live, once she mentioned that she preferred solitude, made it quite clear that working for the damaged princess was only a temporary job, one he would only keep until he could find a better suited one when the economy was repaired. His words held no malice, and in fact were laced with an honest respect that surprised her, but she could tell that he did not want to be around her.

She always knew.

The days passed by quietly, with her servant handling everything from her wash to her food to the cleaning of her house. She learned, painfully and slowly, how to fix her own hair, how to paint her own face, how to dress herself without help. A wide open circle surrounded her house; the forest line was far enough away so that she could practice without starting a dangerous fire. She meditated, ignoring the outside world – truly, her servant was the only thing that connected her to it – and instead focused on herself.

Her mother.

Her father.

Her brother.

The war.

Her _life_.

Focusing on how these elements all accumulated in her was territory she was not willing to tread; she found it better to focus instead on how all of it was interconnected to each other, how all of the rest of it had led up to the point where life is now, how all of it could have led to either doom or utter success. But to throw her own being into the mix, vulnerable and exposed… well, she couldn't have that.

Not yet.

Maybe one day, when her curiosity and natural introspection got the best of her. _Maybe one day when nightmares stopped plaguing her sleep._ She wasn't rushed, though; after all, time had seemed to stall ever since she arrived. One day blended into the next seamlessly; the passing of time was of no essence. It was marked by the small changes and going-ons around her: her hair growing back, the regular arrivals of money from the village (she sold vegetables from her garden), her blood flow each month, the slight chill in the early morning and evening air, the difference of the fruits that her servant brought home. Her servant finding himself a new job.

She watched him go, refusing his countless offers to find her another capable servant, and sighed tiredly against the doorpost as his figure disappeared around the path's bend. She figured that it would be best to go into town the next day to stock up; she didn't wish to go out anymore than it was necessary. Picking up the small stack of paper the man had left her, papers that described his household chores and how she should go about them herself, made her sick at the thought of having to appear to the public so often.

She wished to remain hidden. She knew that she had the perplexing ability to go unseen, both on purpose and wholly on accident, and having her location known because of the gossip mill was not exactly on her to-do list.

In a sudden, panicking need of calm, she stripped and quickly made the short trek to the nearby stream. Being naked in the wild did not frighten her; even when her servant had been around she constantly did it, as there was no one else around. As she discovered before on a day of exploring, the closest village was seventeen miles away and separated by dense forest. She waded into the stream, allowing herself to go as far as her shoulders. The water began to steam as she warmed it to a comfortable temperature. She dived beneath the surface, her hair fanning out in a dark halo underwater. Her heart rate slowed down and she relaxed; panic attacks were not uncommon for her these days. She learned early after her arrival, in a cruel twist of irony, that water calmed her down, and she had spent many a day swimming in the heated stream. She had never enjoyed water; baths had been restricted to only a few minutes at best, but now…

The bath had felt good; she had rubbed her skin raw and her hair smelled of the ginger soap she had brought along. Her hair hung in soppy ropes around her face. She sat there, legs curled up her chest, as the near-noon sun dried her body. The sound of the stream lured her to sleep, and the sky was dark when she woke again. Shivering and streaked with mud on one side, she washed once more and headed home.

Locking the front door behind her, she kicked the earlier worn clothes into a corner, vowing to wash them later. She slipped into bed, not bothering to don any nightclothes underneath the feather thin sheets. A small fire mounted at the flick of her wrist, banishing the lingering cool from the small room. She settled down and wished herself to a restful slumber.

It didn't come.

Peaceful sleep never did.

-

"_I want her gone, Ozai."_

"_She is doing perfectly fine where she is, Ursa. I am not sacrificing my only daughter to be brainwashed like the rest of the nation's children, only to be given the basics of a watered down education system. No, the child stays with me."_

"_As if you have time to properly school her yourself! You are constantly away, leaving her to her own devices. That is not healthy, my lord. She is almost seven now, and-"_

"_And she already reads and writes on a level that excels those with further schooling. She absorbs her history classes as a sponge absorbs water, and she is no fool when it comes to mathematics and the sciences. I may be away much of the time, but Azula is a naturally curious child; she has done extremely well on her own so far. No, I will not have it! My daughter stays home!"_

"_What about socialization?"_

"_If you're wondering if she'll end up inept, then please don't worry. If anything, it is our son you should worry over. _He_ is the one who cannot seem to engage another in a simple conversation."_

"_He would be able to if he were given some space. Azula dominates every playdate, controls every young one that visits the two of them. When has he had the chance to make a friend when his sister prevents him from doing so?"_

"_That is character building, Ursa; do not feed me such insipid arguments. Zuko is too sensitive for his own well-being; where else is he supposed to learn how to be aggressive and firm in his manner if not at home? Azula does him no more harm than I did to Iroh, and we see how well he turned out."_

"_A broken man."_

"_That, my dear, is only a matter of perspective… a _misguided_ perspective. Iroh is away at war, taking on a siege that will seal his name in history forever, and he has a brilliant son beside him at that! Whatever ills I committed against him during our childhood is since either forgiven or forgotten."_

"_It won't turn out well, Zuko and Azula's relationship with each other, if it is left alone to continue as it is now. They need to be separated, so that Zuko can build his own path in life, and not one dictated by the actions of his younger sister."_

"_They have a normal relationship, as far as I can tell. I see nothing odd about it. How will separation benefit our daughter? I'll have you know, Ursa, that I am wary and suspicious of you; our daughter's own welfare has not once appeared in your conversation."_

"_I could say the same for you, about Zuko."_

"_On the contrary, I have expressed concern for him; you did not accept it, is all."_

"_What would you have me say, Ozai?"_

"_I would like you to say nothing, and to stay silent from now on."_

"_There will be no more discussion?"_

"_Nor will there be any more consideration of it all; I will have none of it. Azula stays, and she will be supplied with the best tutors and trainers. Why not send Zuko off instead?"_

"_He needs a mother's love and supervision."_

"_He needs to become a man of strength, and he can't accomplish that tugging on your skirts. I assure you, he will not be without at the academy."_

"_If Azula stays, then Zuko does as well. Since you must be so stubborn, I will have to keep them separated."_

"_Why did you disturb me, then, with such pointless muttering, if you could have come up with that conclusion on your own? Leave me be, Princess, this moment."_

_The young girl pressed herself against the dark wall as he mother glided past, angered and frustrated and muttering. The last few words did not escape her ears, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. Sighs and a lone grunt came from her father; she assumed he had lied down for a late afternoon rest, or sat at his altar to meditate. He had often instructed her to do both, the latter quickly following the former, and she dared to step out into the doorway._

"_Azula, I expect you to meditate as well in a few moments. There is nothing more calming than retiring your energy at the same moment the sun retires its own." His gold eyes pierced her own as her turned slightly to glance at her. "Come and join me, Azula, and I will demonstrate the proper way to meditate."_

_Her steps were small and padded as she made her way over to the brilliant figure that was her father, and she bowed respectfully._

"_Sit, and cross your legs just so. Yes, that's it. Sit up straight; do not allow your head to droop. Now, rest your arms…"_

_His words faded into the background as she rested, a small feminine shape next to the large masculine one. With each breath the sun's dying strength filled her, calming her as if giving her permission to rest at the same time as it did. Concentration was effortless after a few moments, and she allowed her mind to go free, releasing the militant control of it._

_She gasped and hiccupped as her mother's words, unbidden, came into the forefront: "A child such as her needs to be kept away from the few kind spirits that you and your fathers have exterminated from this corrupt nation…_

_A child such as her…_

_A child such as her…_

_A child such as __**her**__…_

"If there is one thing that you will always have to remember, Azula," said her father, a deep voice that forbade and warned. She sat up straighter, awakened her dulled senses, and gave him her full attention. "Is that you can never allow your mind to escape your control."

"_What do you mean, Father?"_

"_I mean what I have said, and you will do well to contemplate my words and use them to your advantage. I say it only once."_

_She stood and bowed, slowly making her way to her own chambers. She encountered no servants on her way, and for once she was grateful for their absence. The halls' silence gave her the chance to think on her father's – and her mother's – words, the cool advice of her father fighting for supremacy with the heated frustrations of her mother. Her maids quietly undressed her once she reached her destination, and she settled underneath the comforter._

"_I will not have it, Ursa! The child stays with me. There will be so more discussion or consideration." His words echoed soundlessly off the walls of her rooms._

_The next week, she was settled into the Fire Nation Academy for Girls. Azula's first lesson was effectively given and learned: "Never trust another's words." One incident was all it ever took to teach her, and with this she clung to her father's words: "…Never allow your mind to escape your control." Somehow she knew that trust and the mind were connected, and at the young age of nine, she sought out to unravel the mystery of how and why._

_She still wondered, however, which words she should have paid more attention toward – the defiant ones of the maternal or the ones of masculine authority? This problem unsettled her, because it led to another question: Who is one to be more suspicious of – the enemy or the friend?_

_Who will betray her first and more deeply?_

-

Indeed, she had learned not to trust another's words. She had also learned that friends were not to be on guard behind, but kept carefully in the front, where she could watch them properly. That distrust had been the end of her, and she had suffered. She turned over and glanced out the open window; it was nearly dawn and she had no idea how long she had been awake. A few moments? An hour? All night…?

She closed her eyes once more, breathing deeply in order to calm her racing heart. She remembered that conversation, the continuous arguments that plagued her parents' home, the ride away from the palace, her nine-year-old mind wrapping around her mother's ill-hidden disdain for her. She recalled the earthy fragrance of the fields they passed, the factory smog that clouded the open sky, the stifling heat of the carriage.

"_Sit up straight, Azula. Don't lean out of the window like that, and close your mouth."_

The junior princess snatched one last glimpse at the passing country and leaned back into the plush cushions, suppressing a sigh she knew would hold no weight of an argument against her mother. This was her first trip outside of the royal city, a trip her older brother hadn't even made, and she resented the fact that her mother wasn't going to allow her to enjoy it. Their path was devoid of others, and if there had been she knew enough to not to lean out of the window.

"Your father and I believe that your stay at the academy will be good for you, for your well-being."

_Azula knew that her father had fought her mother to the bitter end to keep her at home. She knew because she had eavesdropped on a conversation between him and her grandfather the night before, with Prince Ozai pleading to his father about Ursa's decision. Her mother was lying to her, Azula knew._

"I expect you to excel at your studies, even more so because now you'll have proper structure. Please be gracious and kind to your fellow schoolmates; as a princess, you are both an example of our family and this nation." Ursa peered over her book to look at her daughter. "I expect only the best from you."

If there was one thing Azula knew best was to never believe a word her mother said. She would listen to her father, her uncle, her grandfather, even her brother – but her mother was not one she could ever hope to count on, despite the woman's outward loving manner. Not yet ten and she already knew this as the fact it was.

"We do this because we love you."

Her mother was a liar.

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of baked banana bread and the citrus scent of clean dishes. She swept the floor, arranging the dirt and crumbs into small piles that she duly brushed into the kitchen's fireplace. The blue flames flared slightly before settling back down into a peaceful blaze. A weak smile formed; the domestic arts taught at the academy had been limited to tea-making, embroidering, and hosting. Anything else was considered lowly and detrimental to the highborns' social development. If her teachers could see her now – sweeping floors, baking bread, washing dishes – they would have conniption fits.

She allowed herself to be soothed by the rhythmic rocking of the broom, the sweet, subtle perfume of the room. Her arrival at the school had been one rung above a nightmare. In those last moments with the woman, Azula knew her mother wasn't completely estranged from her; the small pocket of love that she held for her daughter Azula had clung to, a bleak assurance that maybe Ursa hadn't left her there because of her own contempt…

"Don't fall asleep, not just yet." Her eyes fluttered open; the gentle motions of the hairbrush had rocked her to sleep for the fourth time. Her mother's voice was tender; her cool fingers grazed against Azula's heated scalp sent shivers down the girl's spine. Her head jerked slightly as Ursa tugged her hair into a smooth ponytail. Ursa ran one palm over the top of Azula's hair; the spicy scent of ginger permeated through the warm air.

"For a beautiful shine," Ursa explained when she met Azula's questioning eyes. "You must take care of this beautiful hair; it is a woman's crowning glory."

"Won't I have someone to help me with my hair, like at home?" she asked, brows furrowing at the thought of spending her days away from home without help.

"You will, but the responsibility of taking care of yourself is your responsibility alone," Ursa answered. "Not that I am worried, but nine-year-olds can be forgetful when they are surrounded by an engaging environment."

The mention of the school hushed the young princess; she had tried to forget that she was in her dormitory room at all. She was grateful that she had one to herself; her mother had done that much for her. Ursa gazed at Azula's reflection in the mirror.

"Are you happy to be here?"

There was a way to please her mother without an outright lie.

"I don't think I'll like it here."

Ursa's eyes twinkled and she knelt down to Azula's eye level. "You'll be fine, I promise. You will make plenty of friends…"

She had friends back home.

"… you'll get amazing instruction…"

Her father supplied all of the education a young royal could ever hope for, she knew that much.

"…and when you come home in two months, you will be very thankful that you came." Ursa squeezed the girl's hands and stood, running her hands over her silk robes. "So now, I leave you. It's a long trip back home and I wish to arrive there by sundown." With one glance around the open room and a soft smile for her daughter, she left with the swish of her robes and a faint trail of amber.

For possibly the first time in her remembered life, Azula felt alone – isolated and deserted.

She sighed and, setting the broom against the stove, rested her forehead on the stone wall. Ursa hadn't left her one token to hold on to that early afternoon, not even an "I love you." Most of the time, before she had been left at the academy, Azula had hardly noticed Ursa's absences from her life or the lack of motherly gestures; she had had Ozai's attention to grasp onto, to quench her thirst for honest affection.

Ozai's love had never existed, she knew, no matter how peaceably he dealt with her, no matter how much he praised her. She hadn't minded the way he pushed her to succeed; in fact, it was one of the many reasons why she appreciated him, but sincere warmth from him she did not receive. Despite her many efforts to convince herself that his exaltation of her and his respect was all she needed, an emotional hunger for her mother's love reared its ugly head when her two best friends – a sad replacement of her mother – betrayed her.

Opened lids revealed angry eyes of molten gold.

When Zuko only stared before he left her behind to cry alone. He was supposed to love her and protect her, and all he did was allow the water witch to tie her to a grate. He stared, his eyes cold and loveless, and he walked away. Didn't he hear her screams? Didn't he hear her cry? Why didn't he turn around and save her?

She pressed her hands against the wall, grappling for control of her warring emotions. Her body pleaded for release, feet and hands burning with unleashed flames, her head dizzy from the rush of sudden adrenaline. If she weren't careful, the assault would quickly dissolve into a panic attack, and then she'd be dealing with an onslaught of hysteria. It would be her first in about a month, the unfortunate blend of both uncontrolled firebending and anxiety… and each time brought her back to grates and chains.

She escaped out of the house, gasping for breath as she brought herself under reasonable control. She peeled off her outer layers, relishing in the feel of the sun's heat on her cool skin. Her body flowed through basic movements; her muscles stretched and loosed in preparation for more demanding exercise. Agni's energy moved like liquid fire through her veins, at once calming her and infusing her with energy. She stood, willing herself to hold before the final release, the moment she yielded herself to be taken over by the will of fire…

"One masters the basics because the basics are all one needs," her father said. He stood in front of her, solid and stoic, lecturing her. She had failed again, failed on her test of patience. She had mastered the foundational movements seven months ago, and still her father refused to allow her to move pass the simple exercises to more advanced ones, for reasons long untold.

"And if one does not learn to appreciate the basics," he continued, eyes trained firmly on his young daughter. "One will fail to appreciate anything else that has to do with firebending. Just like the sun – a basic, primitive source – is powerful enough to provide the world with life and energy, and the world appreciates it, so must we appreciate the foundation of basic firebending."

"And so must we make that foundation strong," she finished, understanding dawning on her.

She remembered the hours spent in the massive arena, alone or in the presence of her father. At times her grandfather had joined her, alternating soft, gentle praise with critiques that wounded her pride. Occasionally she'd spot Zuko in the stands, concentrating intently on her every move with envy in his eyes; Ursa sometimes accompanied her boy, and her soothing words of encouragement – though not for her, never for her – could be heard even where she worked. She remembered sneaking out of her rooms late at night, padding quietly to the arena to practice. Firebending was her release; back then it was an escape from the confines of royal life and from the expectations that awaited her at the academy, the way she connected with the outer world during her holidays from school.

The last flame disappeared into the air, leaving in its wake an exhausted young girl and the smell of burning metal.

"I am impressed, Princess Azula." She spun around warily and did her best to seek out her father's large frame in the dark arena. She found it, vague and nonchalant, sitting on the edge of the platform.

She bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Father."

Silence.

"I could not sleep," she offered. To her surprise, he chuckled. He stood and brought her to him, enveloping her in a hug. This shocked her and she stood still as he released her. "I know that firebenders are supposed to be very tired at night, as soon as the sun sets, but I couldn't fall asleep for anything. So I came here to practice, and… I hope you… aren't mad at me."

"No, I am not. I just hope you will be able to stand in the morning; you will be very tired, I can assure you." She sighed with relief, and Ozai awarded the girl with a grin.

"The sun gives me a strength that transcends a month's restful slumber." It was a quote she had heard time and again from her grandfather and her uncle Iroh, and it seemed fitting at the moment.

"Maybe so, but your mother will not be pleased to find you lacking at your morning lessons."

"I have no need for morning lessons. Mother has had her wish granted: everything that I must learn as a lady I have learned at the academy."

Mother. That's what her problems came down to, didn't it? Azula collapsed on the ground, wondered why she hated the woman so, yet craved Ursa's love even now. She decided it wasn't fair, then laughed a harsh laugh that burned her chest. The sun beat down on her sweaty body relentlessly; she was tired, and broken, and full of hate for everything life had handed her on a platter made of gold. Why she and Ursa had never gotten along was something she had years ahead of her to figure out, a mystery to unravel and solve with an answer to come to terms with. There was a family to make peace with, friends to forgive and to be forgiven by, and a life to build. Such things will come eventually.

Eventually, always eventually.

She sprawled on her back and looked at the cottage behind her, lonely and welcoming. Never before had she felt so disjointed, but one day, she'd rise from the ashes, like the phoenix her father had strived to be and never become. She was not made for fragility; her current state wasn't permanent.

She stood up once more, straightened and cleared her mind, tamed her emotions. With fluid movements she felt her hair stand on end, the air crackle around her, and was temporarily blinded when the lightning, strong and powerful and formidable, striked upwards into the clear sky.

She was Princess Azula and she was destined for greatness.

_Fin._

_For what I've done I start again  
And whatever pain may come  
_**Today this ends**_  
I'm forgiving what I've done_


End file.
